Chasing Away Nightmares
by E.Wills
Summary: Astrid's encounter with the Flightmare torments her dreams. Hiccup tries to help her cope. Hiccstrid fluff one-shot.


**Author's Note:** A one shot taking place after the _Fright Of Passage_ episode. Also a post from Tumblr. I am more active on that site now, but I will still be updating my major stories on here as soon as a new chapter is completed.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own HTTYD.

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Given the choice, Astrid would have voted to postpone the group camping trip for another week, but the rest of her friends had been so damned excited. She did not want to be the only voice of dissent.

Surprisingly enough, it had been Snotlout's suggestion—one of the few practical things that had ever come out of his loud mouth. The weather was nice and the other teens always leapt at the chance to stray from their parents' watchful eyes, so the idea had caught on like wildfire in a drought. Hiccup, especially, was looking forward to the excursion, even though his father had only allowed it with the stipulation they selected any of the surrounding islands still visible from Berk. They would be looked after by their dragons, of course, but the chief's request only sparked the rumor that Stoick the Vast's critical glare could carry over miles. In his dry, sarcastic way, Hiccup had agreed with the preposterous theory.

"That's what I've been saying for years," he told the others flatly, as they packed their things onto their dragons.

The others laughed and spoke animatedly, but Astrid had only felt a mounting anxiety.

It was not the idea of spending a handful of unsupervised nights with her friends that bothered her. She would have been just as thrilled as the rest of them—if it were not for the nightmares.

Or rather, nightmare. It was just the one.

She was loathe to admit it, but when she drifted off to sleep at night, she quickly awoke in a cold sweat. Seared into her brain was the image of a great, spectral dragon, and the sensation of every muscle and bone in her body seizing up, all at once. It had not even been a week since the Flightmare terrorized their island, and it still haunted her dreams. It did not matter that they had driven it away indefinitely, she could not forget the paralysis it cast upon her. It would have been the very last thing she ever felt, and that hideous glowing beast would have been the last thing she ever laid eyes on—if it had not been for Hiccup.

Death was not a foreign concept. She grew up in a village that had been routinely savaged by wild dragons. In her life, there had been a few close calls, but none that left her quite as shaken as her encounter with the Flightmare. Perhaps it was her family history with the dragon? Or, maybe it was that helpless feeling of staring death in the face while being powerless to fight back?

Whatever the reason, she was still rattled by the waking nightmares that tormented her.

She did not want the others to know—to overhear her cries of distress. She would never live it down but hoping, alone, could not keep terrifying dreams at bay.

On the very first night of the great camping trip, predictably, Astrid woke herself up screaming. She sat bolt upright in her tent, staring disoriented into the darkness, trying to make sense of her surroundings as beads of sweat slipped down her spine. She gasped for air as her heart hammered frantically against her ribs, senses slowly returning as she realized where she was, and why she was there.

Then, she felt foolish.

She clapped a hand over her mouth and prayed to many a god that no one had heard her panic—no one apart from Stormfly, who growled outside the walls of canvas.

"I'm okay, girl," Astrid whispered to her dragon. "Go back to—"

"Astrid?"

She froze. She could hear the mismatched footsteps on the grass, and the faint clinking of metal. She held her breath as Hiccup approached her tent, but he remained just outside as manners dictated. The concern in his voice was obvious.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"I'm fine!" she answered brusquely, snapping in her embarrassment. "Why are _you_ still awake?"

Deflection was a trusted defense.

"Keeping watch...?" he replied uncertainty, as if it was a trick question.

Astrid mentally cursed herself for her outburst. _Of course_ he was still up. They were supposed to take shifts, as long as Dagur was still out there, roaming the archipelago with his armada.

"I, uh...I heard you shouting," Hiccup said. "Can I—?"

"_No._ It was nothing," she interrupted, a little too firmly.

"Okay. If you're sure. You know, I'm right out here if you—"

"I don't."

There was a heavy pause, and Astrid did not know why she was being so rude. To Hiccup, of all people. He had not said or done anything more offensive than check on her in the wake of her nightmare, and there she was, punishing him for having the audacity to care. To make her feel even worse, he did not react negatively to her unwarranted attitude. He took it in stride. Ever so kind. Ever so infuriatingly polite for a Viking.

"Ah. Alright, then. Good night, Astrid. I hope you sleep better," he said amicably.

He started to walk away, and she felt guilty. He was her closest friend and confidant, but she would not let him see her vulnerable. It was a strange double-standard they lived by. She had seen him broken and anxious, but all he ever received in return was misplaced frustration and punches to the arm or shoulder.

"Hiccup..." she called after him, barely raising her voice over its normal volume.

She heard a break in his footsteps, and she was keenly aware of how awkward it was to converse through a barrier of heavy fabric.

"Yeah...?" was his measured response.

Astrid sat there with her mouth open, unable to form words. What was she supposed to say? Confess to her shameful nightmares? Admit she was not as tough as she let on? _Apologize?_ Each option was woefully uncharacteristic—but so was her strong desire to ask him to stay.

"Never mind. It's not important...'Night Hiccup," she said dismissively.

"Good night, Astrid."

That was the end of it, or at least, she had hoped it would be. When she awoke the next morning to join the other riders around the campfire, she shot Hiccup a pointed look, daring him to say anything. He, of course, did not. In fact, he acted as though nothing had happened the night before. He smiled when she sat down, and he spoke to her as if she had not been unnecessarily unkind to him. He was so incredibly casual about the whole thing that it was its own form of agony, reinforcing how unreasonable she had been. The entire day, she had half a mind to corner him and explain herself, but the other riders were so persistently...present. Everything had to be a group activity—swimming, fishing, flying. She did not have the opportunity to get Hiccup alone without being obvious in front of the other teens—their mockery would not have been worth the trouble.

When night finally fell, Astrid was the first watch, begrudgingly settling in by the campfire while the rest of her friends retreated into the comfort of their tents. Stormfly curled up beside her, to keep her company, and Astrid was thankful she had her Nadder to lean against.

She watched the flames dance in their random pattern, spitting small embers into the air, and reflected on the nature of bad dreams, and why it had to be the Flightmare that plagued her thoughts. She was not afraid of the dragon when she was alert and lucid, but somewhere in the vulnerable state of sleep, she always succumbed to fear. It was getting ridiculous, and Astrid was as angry as she was weary.

She drew her knees up to her chest, listening to the crackling firewood as it burned. It was a different kind of lullaby, bringing on a drowsiness intensified by the warmth of the flames. She folded her arms on top of her knees and rested her head on them, putting up a halfhearted fight against encroaching slumber. Her eyelids drooped, and she found herself thinking about Hiccup from the night before—the genuine concern in his voice, her regrettable reaction, and how, if it had to be anyone who overheard her cries, at least it had been him...

Then the Flightmare was hovering above her, furiously beating its wings as it let out its unearthly shriek. The sound chilled her to the bone marrow, but she was filled with a righteous fury—the drive to avenge her uncle and clear her family name, forever. She was gripping her axe firmly, poised to strike, but that infernal dragon breathed a cooling mist that rendered her motionless. In an instant, she was defenseless, unable to flinch or call out for help. Then, as her vision and her consciousness became hazy—that paralyzing breath attacking the entirety of her nervous systemvshe noticed the Flightmare streaking towards her for the final blow.

But her voice had returned, and she was screaming. At some point, her axe had disappeared, but she was furiously flailing her fists at the dimming vision of that glowing beast.

"I'll kill you!" she vowed, breathlessly. "I'll kill you, you gods damned—!"

"Astrid!"

A familiar voice cut through the last vestiges of her nightmare, pulling her out of that odd state suspended between sleep and wakefulness. She quickly became aware she was still struggling, and she blinked rapidly in the darkness, willing her eyes to readjust. Someone had a hold of her wrists, but as mental clarity returned, she did not need to guess who it was. There was only one person she knew with such warm and caring eyes—the first thing she focused on. He was kneeling beside her, hair tousled and clothes slightly disheveled—he looked as if he had just rolled out of bed.

"Hiccup..." she murmured, feeling her heart give a small leap—but whether it was due to the nightmare or her friend, she could not really say.

"Yes, it's just me. You're alright now," he said, cautiously releasing her. "I could hear you all the way from my tent."

She should not have been surprised. His was the closest tent to the campfire. She could have planned things a little better, and kept watch from a different location...Or, perhaps it was all so pleasantly fortuitous?

For a moment, neither one of them spoke. They just considered one another. It became clear Hiccup was not going to say anything—not without giving her the chance to explain or defend her actions, first.

When the silence grew a little too uncomfortable, Astrid finally muttered, "Nightmare..."

She could not look at him when she said it, as if she was confessing to some deep, tremendous secret. She was, essentially, telling him she had been afraid of a bedtime apparition. But she was talking to Hiccup, and he did not react in the ways she had come to expect from the rest of their tribe. There would be no scoffing or teasing. Only compassion and understanding.

"Hey, I get it," he said, placing his hand on her shoulder.

Astrid dared to glance at him then, relieved to find only a reassuring smile without the faintest hint of judgment or reproach. He gestured down at his prosthetic, glinting in the firelight as a poignant reminder of what he had suffered.

"Trust me, I've had my fair share of nightmares," he told her. "I've seen enough Red Deaths to last me a lifetime."

She stared back at him incredulously, finding it remarkable that she had not considered he could relate, having suffered his own trauma and brush with death. Wrapped up in her own concerns, she had been so shamefully obtuse.

"It gets better," Hiccup added, trying to reassure her.

"S-Sure. Yeah. I guess so..." she replied awkwardly, effectively running their moment for heartfelt bonding into the ground.

She made a mental note to kick herself later.

Since when had speaking to Hiccup become so difficult? When had she turned into the stammering one in their unlikely pair? Gods, she felt stupid. She was making a fool out of herself, and he was far too nice to bring it to her attention.

"So...uh, are you...okay?" he asked, trying to drudge up a less feeble conversation. "Do you want me to take this watch for you? I don't mind."

"No. I'll be fine—_really_, Hiccup," she answered as he gazed at her, skeptically. "You already took your shift. I'll finish mine. It's only fair."

He shrugged and rose to his feet, and Astrid felt disappointment welling up inside her at the thought of him leaving. While he had been recently making her feel tongue-tied, he brought an air of ease with him, and Astrid found it comforting.

"If you need anything, you know where to find me," he said, nodding towards his tent—it was hard to miss, guarded by a Night Fury.

She gave him an appreciative grin before he turned away, thinking of about a dozen things she wanted to say to him, _if_ she could convince herself that her feelings were honest and not the result of one brief moment of commiserating.

Hiccup had not taken more than a few steps before she felt that strange urge to call out to him again, as she had done the previous night. Before she could stop herself, she blurted out his name and it sounded oddly pleading to her own ears. It made him pause, and he glanced over his shoulder with raised eyebrows.

For the second time, Astrid was unable to form the right words.

"Ah, it's not important," she said, quickly. "Forget it."

Instead of seeming annoyed, Hiccup just laughed and shook his head.

"You know, I'm still holding out hope that, one of these days, you'll actually tell me what you want."

There was no way for either one of them to know, when he made that statement, there was a hint of clairvoyance in it.

By the third night on that tiny island, nothing had really changed. Astrid went on dreading the evening and her impending nightmare, while spending the daytime acting as if nothing was wrong—interacting with Hiccup like they did not almost cross some invisible line between friendship and a little bit more.

Then again, she supposed that was not a new thing for them, all things considered. They had been flirting with boundaries every time she kissed him, only to continue on as if nothing had happened. Why should words make a bigger impact on their relationship when they remained, unspoken, in the air between the two of them?

They laughed as friends, spoke as friends, shared meals as friends—albeit, with the other teens as well. When they exchanged "good night" it was with the usual platonic tone, without suggestion. They dipped into their respective tents, not expecting to see one another again until morning—Fishlegs and Snotlout were splitting the night watch.

Astrid snuggled into her bedding, anticipating sleep's quick onset, but she remained awake in spite of her exhaustion. She tossed and turned, thinking the solution might be positional, and still, she stared up at the apex of her tent feeling the night dragging slowly by.

She kicked off her blankets and groaned, draping an arm over her eyes. She blocked out the faint light of the roaring campfire peeking in through the flaps of her tent, though she was certain that was not the problem, either. It seemed that her anxiety was getting the better of her, keeping her awake to prevent a familiar memory from giving her another restless night. Strange, however, that it had not prevented her from drifting off before. Stranger still, was that she had not really been thinking about the Flightmare. She was not dreading it as she wrapped up in her knitted blankets, nor did it cross her mind until she tried to figure out the cause of her sudden insomnia.

In all honesty, she had been thinking about Hiccup—how he had really been there for her over the past week, chasing the Flightmare, then as she wrestled with the resulting bad dreams. She had been thinking about the way she sought his company more than anyone else's, how she kind of wished it was just the two of them on their camping trip, and how—_how he was right outside her tent?_

"Astrid?" she heard him say again, tentatively, and she sat up knowing then that she had not imagined it.

"Hiccup!" she gasped, covering herself up with her blankets, though he could not see her from where he stood—not that her bedtime attire was necessarily inappropriate.

Her heart pounded in her ears, and he was going to have to speak up if he wanted to be heard.

"Did I wake you?" he asked.

"No. I was already awake," she answered. Then she added, "I couldn't sleep."

"Me neither," he replied.

There was another awkward pause—it was becoming a rather common thing for them. Then, it dawned on Astrid...funny, she had been lying awake thinking about Hiccup while he had probably been lying awake thinking about her. Wherever his mind had wandered, it guided his feet to her tent.

"Hiccup, are you checking up on me?" she asked, lips upturning slightly.

"I, uhh...yes. Yes, I guess I am. I just...I thought...it sounded like a good idea at the time," he said, and she could hear the sheepishness in his voice.

That was more like it—making him stumble over his words with a simple, direct question. That was familiar.

"Hiccup..." she said, sighing his name in such a way that he was practically compelled to peek into her tent.

She could not make out his face clearly as his silhouetted against the fiery glow behind him. She could tell by his fidgeting that he was uncomfortable, uncertain of just how much of an invitation she had given him.

"Are you okay? Any nightmares?" he murmured, still halfway outside her tent.

"Couldn't sleep, remember? No nightmares yet," she answered.

"Oh. Right," he replied, rubbing the back of his neck. Then, idly toying with the canvas in his hand, he added, "Um...is...is there anything else?"

She stared at him, feeling her throat go dry. If she said no, he would leave again, like he always did, and she would have nothing but a potential nightmare or more hours of mental disquiet to keep her company. She wanted him there with her, and the laid back feelings he brought with him. She took refuge in their friendship as it diminished her stress, but if she told him that, well...that would be one step closer to the cliff overlooking a deeper, more meaningful relationship she was not entirely sure either one of them was ready for.

Still, she opened her mouth a third time, expecting her resolve to fail—expecting another hasty dismissal, but something felt different.

Instead, in a surprisingly soft voice, she simply said, "You could stay."

She heard a hitch in his breath and he hesitated. For a moment, Astrid was afraid she had been too bold, even for Hiccup, suggesting something completely improper in his eyes. It was what she had feared, and why it had taken her three attempts to finally work up the courage to ask. She immediately wished she could take it back, feeling color rising to her cheeks that she was glad he could not see. She hoped she could close her eyes and wake up the very next morning with Hiccup acting as though their current conversation had never occurred. Anything to make the urge to bury her face in her blankets go away.

She opened her mouth again, to take it back—to insist she was only joking—but she never got the chance. To her combined shock and delight, Hiccup stepped inside her tent and closed the flap behind him, plunging them into complete darkness. It made Astrid hyper-aware of everything—her breathing, his breathing, the shuffling of her blankets, and the sensation of another body beside her. They were both tense—much too nervous to sleep, and Astrid could not stand it.

Carefully, she reached out for him. Her fingers first touched the opening in the neck of his tunic before slowly continuing their exploration, brushing along his clavicle. In the darkness, she could only focus on the texture of his skin—how pleasantly warm and smooth it was. She felt the movement of his throat as he swallowed, hard. She slid her hand down to his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his somewhat labored breathing, as well as the steady beating of his heart. She smiled fondly. It was all so fascinating to map him out without sight...

Then she realized, oh gods, _she was feeling him up!_

She withdrew her hand as if she had been scalded.

"I'm sorry!" she exclaimed—apologies were not her norm, but the whole situation was atypical. "Hiccup, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to...all of that was..."

"Does this help you?" he asked quietly, taking her by surprise.

"What?"

"Me. Being here. Does it help you?" he clarified.

"Yes," she answered in a small voice, unsure where the inquiry was headed.

She nearly jumped as she felt a hand on her back, gently guiding her closer.

"Then it's okay," he replied, "to chase away the nightmares..."

Astrid curled up against him hesitantly, very mindful of where she put her hands. It was a fine line to walk between what kind of touching was acceptable for friends, and what was a little too intimate. She also wrestled with where she should rest her head, finally deciding his chest was still harmless enough. His hand did not move—he did not pull her any closer, but she felt him relax. She, too, let out the breath she did not even know she was holding.

"To chase away the nightmares," she agreed.

Another silence settled between them, but it was not uncomfortable.

The rhythm of his heart had nearly lulled her to sleep when he asked, "To be clear, we're _not_ telling the others about this?"

Astrid stifled a yawn and replied, "Absolutely not."

"Good."

There was no further discussion, and before Astrid knew it, she was out of it, sleeping soundly. Morning came too quickly, but she had not stirred an inch all night. No Flightmares roused her, and she did not make a sound.

It was the most restful sleep she had in a week.


End file.
